


You miss a hundred percent of the shots that you don’t take

by wildechilde17



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3486071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildechilde17/pseuds/wildechilde17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and Clint can always be found talking softly over each others sick beds.  Spies and Assassins, they are more honest when there is a chance you won't live to tell their tales.  After the attack at Von Strucker's Clint is recovering but his sightlines have never been clearer.  A possible version of Ultron events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You miss a hundred percent of the shots that you don’t take

“So….” he croaks out when she comes to sit beside him, “Banner.”

“He’s a little flinchy after the code green but he’ll calm down,” she says turning to take in the books on his bookshelf. She half smiles at the collection of bad spy thrillers.

“Not what I meant Nat. And you know it. Something going on between you two?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Barton,” she says evenly but she lets her hair curtain her face away from him.

“Tasha,” he says gruffly. He’d like to sit up but Banner’s said he can’t until tomorrow, muttering about drains and how he really isn’t this kind of doctor. Clint’s had worse medical attention and the Doc looks awful distracted so he’s tried not to expose him to the Hawkeye approach to medical advice by not talking back and ignoring him outright. He’s pretty sure Nat would knock him out if he tried it.

“Nothing’s happened,” she insists.

“But you want it to,” he sighs, “I know you. You like him. He’s smart. And not an absolute ass like Stark.”

“No one is an absolute ass like Stark.”

“He’s kind too. You deserve kind.”

She rolls her eyes giving him a soft smile that she reserves for bedside vigils. “I deserve a firing squad.”

“Hey now. None of that debt bullshit. It’s me. You don’t get to play that game with me.”

“Why did you trust me?”

“’Cause you were worth trusting. Still are,” he says with such a tone of certainty that Natasha finds she cannot argue.

“Not everyone agrees.”

“Well everyone should fuckin’ take my word for it,” he says his hair messed against the pillow and his skin still sallow with blood loss but his eyes are still the eyes of the young agent who dragged her back to SHIELD declaring he’d made a different call and the council could go suck it for all he cared. He reaches out for her hand and gives her a firm squeeze. “Is that what it’s about? He doesn’t trust you? ‘Cause next time he comes in here, I’ll..”

“Clint, no. That isn’t it. He doesn’t trust himself.”

“Ah. Yeah. That’s…” he says stumbling over his words. Not trusting yourself is something they both know far too much about. They have lived through each other’s nightmares about not being the one in control. Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff both know there is no simple way of learning to trust yourself again.

“It doesn’t matter. We have more important things to deal with,” she says shaking it off with a pragmatic flick of her hand.

“The apocalypse can wait. And you are important Natasha.”

“Some people are not designed for love,” she says resigned as she puts his hand back on the bed.

“Bullshit!” he declares hitting his fists against clean but worn sheets they’ve laid him on.

“Barton. Calm down. You are not allowed to throw a clot and leave me here with the kinds of people who solve the world’s problems by creating more.”

“Tasha. You know what happened with us… it’s on me right? That one was on me.” He loved her once. He probably still loves her, if he let himself think about it too long. God help him if she ever decided to love him again.

“It takes two to tango.”

“And just one crap dancer to step on the other ones toes.” It happened so long ago. They were better as friends. There was no reason to rehash passed mistakes, especially now.

“Clint…”

“Just,” he coughs and Natasha doesn’t like the wetness she can hear in his lungs. “You tell Banner, from me, you miss a hundred percent of the shots that you don’t take.”


End file.
